


One Cold Night In Erebor

by Merrinpippy



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: (practically) no violence woo, Gen, M/M, The One Ring - Freeform, haha i mashed the keyboard and came up with this whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is, if the voice in his head is anything to go by, maybe just a little bit mad. </p>
<p>But he doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>One cold night in Erebor, however, he doesn't really have a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Cold Night In Erebor

Sometimes the memories hurt.

Sometimes the dreams will come back, the nightmares about what could (would) have happened.

Bilbo doesn’t like those times at all, but he doesn’t tell Thorin when they happen. Thorin has enough on his plate (in more than one way- Bilbo is a _good_ cook), and besides, it doesn’t really matter that much. It’s just in Bilbo’s head.

At this point he suspects that there’s something more to his ring than he once thought. Sometimes a voice, not quite his own, puts dark thoughts into his head- in fact, it’s that very same voice which often recalls that terrible day when Thorin was still taken by the dragon-sickness. Again, he says nothing.

Bilbo lives with this, because overall, he is happy here in Erebor. The weather’s alright- not as sunny or warm as the Shire, but he makes due. The people are fantastic, and not at all judgemental (though they do like their gossip!). Sometimes the voice in his head reminds him of what would have happened had he returned to the Shire. “They would call you…what would they call you? Oh yes, _Mad Baggins_. Mad Bilbo Baggins, had a bit too much of Old Toby. Gone round the bend. Not at all respectable, not him.” No matter how hurtful the words are, they are true, Bilbo supposes.

He is, if the voice in his head is anything to go by, maybe just a little bit mad.

But he doesn’t say anything.

* * *

Thorin and Bilbo are sleeping; well, Thorin’s sleeping. Bilbo’s lying awake. Despite his lover being right next to him, he can’t go to sleep. Not right now. Because the dreams have come back, and he isn’t strong enough to keep them away. He never is. Why can’t he be strong enough?

Awake, the warmth of Thorin’s arms around him is reassuring. Asleep, they could turn into a chokehold. So no, there’s no sleep for Bilbo tonight.

Thorin shifts around him in his sleep, accidently loosening his embrace. Bilbo hesitates, eyes taking in Thorin’s sleeping form, before utilising his burglar skills and slipping out of bed. Like Thorin’s, his pyjamas are of Durin blue, with the crest of the Durin line over his heart. Tonight, though, he needs a touch of something else. Something that his mind can’t relate to agonising memories in the past.

His old robe!

He’d _insisted_ on bringing the ‘mismatched’ and ‘colour-offending’ (thank you, Fili and Kili) thing. It was his possession, anyway. They didn’t have to wear it (unless they were being particularly troublesome. Then, he would find delight in slipping it on one of them in their sleep and hearing their shocked shrieks in the morning as they realised what he’d done). The only memories it could possibly bring to mind are cosy nights in Bag End and that particular, not so cosy night that he’d hosted (been trampled on by) the company of dwarves. It was a good choice.

He rummages around in his own (absurdly large) wardrobe for it, peeking over his shoulder to make sure he doesn’t wake Thorin.

_Is this it- no, it’s the present from Fili and Kili that I never wear._

_What about- frills? Why do I even own this?_

_Maybe this could be- ah, no, that was Dwalin’s revenge for stealing all the cookies._

_Aha! Finally._

He slips it on silently, and gives a short sigh. He’d forgotten how warm it was- no wonder he used to wear it all the time!

Checking once more that Thorin was, in fact, asleep, Bilbo crosses their overlarge bedroom to the door. Wincing, he slowly turns the doorknob and pulls, eyes almost closed as he scrunches his face up in apprehension. His head rolls back in relief when no sound is made, and he takes just as much care in closing the door.

He walks carelessly down the corridor, the material (velvet? He still isn’t sure) on the floor muffling his footsteps enough that he doesn’t need to be cautious. He lets his hand brush along the wall, stone so smooth it wouldn’t even be considered possible in the Shire. In contrast to his hand, it’s cool, but not uncomfortably so, and it almost feels as if he could shape it between his fingers if he wanted to.

The shadows don’t set him on edge like they used to. Now he knows every nook and cranny, at least of this part of Erebor, from the smallest goblet in their personal dining room to the largest harp kept in storage for extra special celebrations (like their anniversary).

Bilbo lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he leaves the royal chambers. His footsteps quicken in response to the colder floor- almost painful in the chill of night- and he finds himself guided by his feet, not really knowing where he’s going.

Suddenly, “Bilbo!” Bilbo stops. He knows that voice, almost hesitant in calling him anything other than ‘Consort’ or ‘Your majesty’ or ‘Master Baggins’. He turns, an amused smile on his face, to greet Brimar, one of the night guards dotted around Erebor.

“Wow, you’ve actually managed to call me by my name. That’s quite an achievement, you know. I should badger Thorin to get you a promotion.” Bilbo sticks his thumbs up, grinning when, even in the dark of night, he sees the dwarf blush.

“Ah- yes. You, well, you asked me to and so I…Please don’t bother his majesty on my behalf, Ma- Bilbo, I really don’t think…what?”

Bilbo clutches his chest as he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding. Unless you wouldn’t mind me asking to get you a promotion, in which case…”

Brimar’s gasp of horror makes Bilbo laugh again, and he puts his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. Brimar blinks a few times before answering.

“Maybe, maybe not. Although, speaking of talking to his majesty, does he know you’ve gone for a midnight stroll?”

Bilbo sobers up immediately. “Thorin is sleeping at the moment, and was when I left. I didn’t want to wake him up, you see. It’s all fine. It’s all good.”

Brimar nods. “Would you like some company? S’not as if I have anything better to do.”

“Ah…sure.” Bilbo shrugs, turning on his heel in the direction he was going. Brimar keeps his pace easily.

“Is there anywhere in particular that you’re heading to, M- uh, Bilbo?”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Such a helpful answer. No wonder you’re his majesty’s best advisor.

Bilbo snorts. “Damn right I am, and don’t you forget it.”

They fall into a companionable silence, Brimar not questioning Bilbo’s path, undoubtedly the longest way he could use to get to where he’s going. When they’re nearly there, Bilbo recognises why his feet pull him this way- they’re heading to a large balcony that overlooks the entrance of Erebor. It’s a beautiful sight in the light of day, but in Bilbo’s opinion, better in the night, the outline of the Misty Mountains in the distance made striking by the starlight above.

Bilbo leans against the railing, looking out over the land. His mind lazily finds references to the retaking of Erebor as his eyes focus on different parts. He doesn’t notice the tears falling until his nose becomes blocked and he’s forced to sniff. He’s not exactly sure why he’s crying; he supposes it’s making up for all the times he’s wished for silence in his head like this one.

_You’re such a cry-baby. Wimpy little Bilbo Baggins. More Baggins than took, if you ask me._

It seems he spoke too soon. “Shut up,” he mutters, forgetting his company.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Bilbo sighs. “Not you.”

“Then who…?” Bilbo turns to face Brimar. The dwarf’s face is confused, and really, who could blame him?

Bilbo shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Brimar steps closer to him, arm raised, as if to grasp his shoulder. “Bilbo, are you alright?”

Bilbo hesitates, then doesn’t answer. He turns back towards the scenery, and this time, Brimar does place his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. He feels rather than sees the dwarf stand beside him.

“It’s not…I mean, you are happy here, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m happy. Well, most of the time. Well- forget I said that.”

“Not a chance.” Silence. “There’s something wrong. Going to tell me what it is?”

“Not likely.”

“Is it to do with that ring of yours?”

Pause.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re squeezing it like you hope it’s just going to combust in your hands.”

Bilbo looks down and finds that he is, in fact, fingering his magic ring. Damn him. He hadn’t even noticed he’d brought it with him! For a moment, he considers dropping it from the balcony, but a feeling like ice takes hold of his body at the thought, and he goes rigid, his senses blurring.

There’s a ringing in his ears before he’s able to make out words being half said half shrieked to him. “Bilbo! Bilbo, can you hear me?”

Bilbo blinks a couple of times, and finds himself propped up on the floor of the balcony. Must’ve fainted. Wimp.

“What happened?” Bilbo asks timidly, and shudders, the queer feeling having not quite left his body.

“Uh, let’s see, you tensed up and then you fainted, hence the lying on the floor part.” Brimar’s panicked attempt at humour brings Bilbo back to his senses.

“Really, Brimar, I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

“Like hell you are. I’m getting Thorin.”

Bilbo’s too shocked by Brimar’s bluntness to notice him calling Bilbo’s husband by his name, but when he does, he laughs to himself about it until the familiar sight of his beloved rushes towards him.

Before Thorin can say a word, Bilbo holds up his hand. “Before you say anything, I’m _fine_ , I _am_ fine and I _will be fine_.”

He sighs when Thorin raises an eyebrow.

“Brimar tells me that you took a tumble.”

“Shut up.” Bilbo rolls his eyes.

“Seriously Bilbo, what happened? I understand you not talking to a close friend, but…can you not speak to me?”

“Thorin…” Bilbo sighs again. “There’s nothing to say, love. I’m alright, I just wanted some air.”

Thorin lies down next to him, and gestures towards him. “That doesn’t explain why you’re still on the floor.”

“Mm…It’s comfortable.”

Thorin snorts. “You’re being stubborn,” He sing-songs.

“That I am.” Bilbo rests his head on Thorin’s shoulder, and Thorin looks at him expectantly. “Can you do me a favour, my king, beloved, owner of my heart?”

Thorin smirks, hand reaching across Bilbo’s back and resting on his other shoulder. “Flattery worked with Smaug, but it’s not working with me. Okay, maybe it’s working a little bit. It depends on the favour, lover-mine.”

Bilbo’s head falls back to lean on Thorin’s arm, so he’s faced with the starry sky. “This ring I have.” Bilbo raises it so Thorin can see. He’s rewarded by an “Mm?”

When Bilbo goes to speak, he feels the ice again. He resists. Gritting his teeth, he chokes, “I want it gone.” He drops it, and the feeling intensifies. But he fights back, because he is Bilbo Baggins, more Took than Baggins if you ask him, and he is not losing a battle to a piece of metal.

“Lock it away. Put it in a chest and feed me the key for breakfast. Throw it in a-” Bilbo gasps in pain as the ice switches to fire. “- in a volcano. I don’t care. It needs to go.”

As gracefully as he can manage, he brings his hand up and deposits the ring in Thorin’s waiting palm. And just like that, the pain disappears. Bilbo’s eyes close and his shoulders sag, and he relaxes more into Thorin’s body. When he opens his eyes, Thorin’s beautiful blue ones are staring intently into his, and for a moment Bilbo is scared that the ring will take Thorin too, but it isn’t that type of intensity.

Thorin’s face is etched with concern as he watches Bilbo silently. His shoulders rise and fall, and so does his chest, but that’s all of him that moves. “As you wish,” he whispers, and kisses Bilbo on the forehead, cheeks, and finally the lips. Thorin puts the ring off to one side, out of reach for both of them, and cradles Bilbo in his arms. They lie there in a peaceful silence, admiring the stars. The view. Each other. Thorin absentmindedly doodles with his fingers on every bit of Bilbo’s skin he can find, and Bilbo smiles at him, finally fully content, and much better than he has been feeling recently.

His mind doesn’t really process the arrival of Brimar, but nonetheless he isn’t surprised when Thorin softly says, “Brimar, come closer. Please.”

Brimar’s squeak makes Bilbo chuckle, and Brimar glares at him while he scrambles to attention. Thorin points at the ring. “Take it down past the treasury and do to it what has been done to the Arkenstone. Maybe inside a chest inside a chest, also. Don’t tell either of us where exactly you put it. Thank you.”

“O-of course, your majesty.” Brimar takes the ring and hurries off to do Thorin’s bidding.

After a moment of silence, Thorin muses, “He called you Bilbo when he entered our chambers. You must be so proud.”

Bilbo giggles. “I’m so glad! Why am I not just ‘Bilbo’? I’m just a hobbit from the Shire!”

Thorin pouts. “I’m not even going to _begin_ to tell you how wrong you are, but I _will_ say that you’ve had it easy with the name calling. I didn’t even know ‘One as bright as the Arkenstone’ was a title, but apparently-” Thorin was cut off as Bilbo’s infectious laughter made him chuckle as well.

“Alright, alright, so you have it bad,” Bilbo laughs, then pauses thoughtfully. “Does Dwalin know of this?”

Thorin scoffs. “Honestly, Bilbo, if Dwalin ever found out I don’t think I’d hear the end of it. Ever. Mahal, can you imagine?”

Grinning, Bilbo tells him, “Dwalin would come in every morning to ‘check on you’. Alright, ‘one as bright as the Arkenstone’? Breakfast appeasing?”

Thorin mutters, “You’re right. At least, he’d do it until I’d ban him from our quarters.”

Bilbo nudges him with his elbow. “That wouldn’t stop Dwalin.”

“I know it wouldn’t. Which is precisely why he doesn’t know.”

Their laughter dies off into yet another peaceful silence, of which Thorin is the first to break. “We should probably get back to bed. Nothing on the schedule, for once, but the more time sleeping now, the more time we spend together tomorrow.”

“Mmph,” came Bilbo’s incredibly sophisticated and well thought-out response.

Leaning on each-other in their sleepy hazes, somehow they manage to get back to their chambers without getting lost or falling over. They have slight aches from the floor of the balcony, and they’re shivering by the time the fall into bed, but it’s worth it.

They cuddle up together and warm up immediately under the large duvet. Thorin’s arms wrap around Bilbo again, and this time Bilbo has enough peace of mind to be able to relax and begin to fall asleep in Thorin’s embrace.

“Bilbo,”

“Mhmm?”

“We’re going to speak of what exactly happened, tomorrow.”

“ _Mmph_.”

“And Bilbo?”

“ _Mhmm_?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too…one as bright as the Arkenstone.”

Thorin groans.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look I wrote something. I can write? Woah! 
> 
> Because God forbid I write anything that isn't stupidly melodramatic or anything.
> 
> I pretty much haven't written anything since December, and published anything for longer, because I'm a lazy git, so I hope you enjoyed this and I hope you don't hate me too much! *crosses fingers*


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